


Crappy New Year

by azulaahai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, THEY'RE DORKS, also I as usual unfairly villainize poor harry hardyng hahah, fluffy as fuck, this is suspiciously similar to several of my other fics lmao, turns out I can pretty much only write one (1) type of modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 03:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16987146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azulaahai/pseuds/azulaahai
Summary: To distract her hands from their sudden urge to touch him, she lifted her glass and took another sip, looking up towards the ceiling to avoid eye contact. Jon did the same - and they both saw it at the exact same time.Hanging above them was a mistletoe.





	Crappy New Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sansaswildlinglover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/gifts).



> Written as part of the Jonsa Secret Santa exchange 2018 on tumblr. Really hope you like it! ♥

It had been a crappy christmas, and it was going to be a crappy new year, Sansa could already tell.

Breaking up with Harry on Christmas Eve of all days had been bad enough. Attending a New Year’s Eve party filled to the brim with happy couples just waiting for the it’s-new-years!-excuse to make out in public might be more than she could handle.

Not that she missed Harry - or the way she had begun acting when she was with him. Not even a little bit. Sansa had just never been that good at being single. Perhaps that should become her new year’s resolution - to be content on her own. Sansa smiled bitterly at the thought. She wasn’t in the mood for motivational goals.

She wasn’t in the mood for a party, either. But she’d promised Robb she would attend the combined moving-out and New Year’s Eve party that he was having in the apartment he shared with Jon and Theon - Robb was going to move in with his fiancé, Jeyne, in a couple of weeks. He had been oddly emotional this whole christmas at the prospect of his new, settled life, teary-eyed as if he was the recently-dumped one. Oh well - Sansa didn’t mind. And she’d said she’d go to the party, Harry or no Harry. (No Harry. Definitely no Harry.)

Their entire social circle just seemed so lovey-dovey all of a sudden, and Sansa didn’t think it was just because of her own break-up that she thought it strange: Arya and Gendry were still going strong, Bran and Meera had finally begun dating after years of mutual pining and seemed very happy, Margaery and Asha had officially become an item a month or so back and Robb, no matter how sentimental he had been recently, was still head over heels in love with Jeyne. Even sodding  _Theon_  had a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake.

Not Jon, though. Another reason Sansa wasn’t exactly looking forward to the party: Jon would be there, recently single just like her, after a bad, long-lasting break-up from Ygritte. Jon always made Sansa nervous, these days. And as they would be the only singles in a sea of couples that had wanted to set the two of them up for ages - things could get really awkward really fast.

***

Sansa stood in the doorway, having snuck off to escape pitying small talk from Jeyne as a not entirely sober Robb kissed Jeyne’s neck in a way that had Sansa having to fight to keep from making disgusted faces. She took a deep breath and had another sip of punch. Fifteen minutes until midnight, and then she could go home, slide into her pyjamas, cry if necessary, eat ice cream and celebrate the new year by not getting out of bed the next day. Fifteen minutes. Sansa could do this.

Ruffling could be heard from the kitchen, someone saying  _uhm, no_  and someone else saying  _uhm, YES_  and a third person saying  _uhm, Arya, can you calm down a little?_ Then a giggling Arya came out into the hallway, pushing an embarrassed-looking Jon before her. Arya led Jon to Sansa’s doorway-of-peace, put him into place opposite Sansa as if buckling in a toddler, said “Jon - Sansa, Sansa - Jon”, then disappeared back to Gendry in the kitchen during another fit of giggles.

“Hi.” Sansa was already blushing, for no reason in particular. Jon gave her an apologetic smile and a shrug. The gesture made a button in his shirt open, revealing an almost indecent amount of skin. (Sansa definitely wasn’t looking.) To distract her hands from their sudden urge to touch him, she lifted her glass and took another sip, looking up towards the ceiling to avoid eye contact. Jon did the same - and they both saw it at the exact same time.

Hanging above them was a mistletoe.

Sansa looked at Jon. Jon looked at Sansa.

It was he who broke the awkward silence.

“Oh. Didn’t know we had those.” He glanced back up at the mistletoe.

“I thought you were supposed to take them down after christmas”, Sansa said, blushing again - god, why was she always blushing?

“Oh, well, you know us”, he said with the most antagonizing, almost shy grin. “Not very organized.”

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss me now? Under the mistletoe?” Sansa said the words without thinking. It was supposed to be some sort of joke -  _ha ha, can you imagine, you having to_ kiss _me because of some stupid superstition, glad we’re not doing_ that _, huh_. But Jon didn’t laugh. Instead, the silence returned, louder and more awkward than ever. Sansa looked down at her feet, her cheeks bright red.

“Well”, she said when she couldn’t bare the quiet anymore. “If we wait ...” - she checked her phone to see how much time was left until midnight - “eleven more minutes we can do a combined mistletoe and new year’s kiss. Extra good luck. Two for the price of one, you know.” That was obviously a joke too, but Jon still wasn’t laughing. He was smiling at her - not a teasing grin, but a sweet, almost nervous smile that made her stomach flutter as if she was in middle school and had just been asked to dance.

“Midnight kiss it is, then.” Jon smiled.

“That rhymed.”

“I meant it to.”

“Show-off.”

“How dare you.”

They both smiled and took another sip to drink, almost simultaneously. Sansa checked her phone again, more relaxed now.

“Eight minutes,” she announced.

“Are you ready? Are you hydrated? Do you have your eyes on the finish line?”

“Wait, are we actually doing this?”

“Are you chickening out?” he teased, but his eyes asked the same question seriously.

“Never.” (She couldn’t chicken out. That would mean abandoning the Stark honor. It was just about that! Had absolutely nothing to do with those grey eyes or the way that shirt made his arms look.)

“Six minutes.” The others were beginning to stir in the living room, getting ready to count down the new year. Sansa didn’t feel the need to join them. She was quite content here.

“Jon?” she said. Perhaps she was drunk. Perhaps she would regret this later. (She had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t.)

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something, and you promise that you’ll forget I ever asked?”

“Ominous, but alright. Bring it on, Stark.” She hesitated. Silence for a few seconds. In the distance, the roar of the fireworks outside could be heard.

“Come on”, he urged gently. “Ask away. I’ll forget this ever happened, remember?”

Oh, what the hell. Here went nothing -

“Can I -”

“THREE MINUTES ‘TIL MIDNIGHT!” someone shouted in the other room. Theon, judging from the obnoxious tone. Arya and Gendry came running out of the kitchen, with suspiciously red cheeks.

“What?” Jon insisted when the pair had run by them, not breaking eye contact with Sansa, looking annoyed at the interruption.

“Could I - could I touch your hair?”

He burst out laughing.

“You want to touch my hair? That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

“You have nice hair! And I just - I can’t really imagine what it feels like, you know?” She was rambling, probably drunker than she had realized, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Because, you know, it looks soft and all, but at the same time it kind of has that ... rough texture, you know? Like I wouldn’t be that surprised if it just felt like ... like ... sandpaper, or something.”

“It doesn’t.” The fact that he hadn’t run from the room screaming in terror at how creepy she was being spoke well of him.

“Prove it.”

Obedient, he bent forward, making her smile as she reached out her hand and carefully, gently, like she was petting a cat, stroked his hair. She almost giggled at the situation, but when he stood back up again there was a seriousness in his eyes, a warmth that she could feel down to her toes.

”So … what’s the judgement? Soft?” he asked.

”No. Not sandpaper either. It feels like … like …” He leaned in a little towards her as she spoke, and suddenly Sansa stopped herself.

”Like what?” he said.

”I don’t know”, she murmured. He was so close, and his eyes were so grey. ”I think I may have to conduct further studies.” He smiled at that.

”I’m at your service anytime. In the name of science, of course.”

”Of course.”

”ONE MINUTE!” Jeyne screamed at the top of her lungs in the other room, and Sansa felt herself getting genuinely nervous, as if she was ten years younger. She peered up at Jon and didn’t think she imagined it - he did look a little nervous himself. That in turn calmed Sansa down a little.

When the countdown began in the living room - ”ten! nine!” - Jon placed a somewhat shaky hand on the doorpost behind her head, his other hand reaching up to a tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. It was terribly cheesy. (Sansa loved it.)

”- six, five - ” Sansa huffed a breathless little laugh as he inched closer, a little awkwardly. Jon smiled, but raised his eyebrows in question. Okay? She nodded.

”- three, two -”

Sansa’s eyes fluttered shut, heightening her other senses; the feel of Jon’s hand as he hesitantly placed it on her waist, the smell of his cologne, the loudness of fireworks erupting outside and the sound of laughter from her friends and family from the living room.

”HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

And as Jon pressed his lips to hers, Sansa found herself almost daring to hope that this would not be such a crappy new year after all.


End file.
